


For Whom Do You Bind Your Hair

by Altenprano



Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Flintlocks & Fireballs (Podcast)
Genre: Celestia's mother is mentioned, I got very emotional about this one moment and this happened, Me? Projecting? Not at all, backstory speculation, spoilers for ep40
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-14 23:32:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18486694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Altenprano/pseuds/Altenprano
Summary: A brief speculation/study of Celestia brought about by her costume change in Ep40, Plans and Psychedelics, centered around the idea of hair and how Celestia wears her hair.





	For Whom Do You Bind Your Hair

**Author's Note:**

> This is just meant to be a brief speculation about Celestia's relationship with how she wears her hair, brought about by a moment in Ep40 of actual-play podcast Flintlocks & Fireballs. 
> 
> I do not own Flintlocks & Fireballs- the world and characters are all property of the cast.

Celestia takes her time changing into the old clothes.

The dress is easy enough- the fabric is heavy and dour- but as she goes to do her hair, she hesitates. 

She wants to laugh at her hesitation, to joke about her fear. She wants to be untouchable, shielded by cheek and her music, but she can’t find it in her to draw that protection around her.

For a moment, she’s back home- it’s not home, it never was home. She’s back in the Underdark, sitting at her mother’s vanity, staring at her reflection in the black-glass mirror. She knows her mother stands over her shoulder, tall, severe, and disapproving. 

Her mother’s hands are not kind. 

She remembers it well, the sharp, impatient tugging and the way her mother’s fingers, long nails that she swears catch intentionally on her scalp, would comb through her hair, grasping tight as she twisted it into a stern plait. Celestia was never able to sit still when her mother did her hair, and a scolding was inevitable. The disapproval in her mother’s voice is clear, reprimanding her for squirming, for flinching, until Celestia is older and does not flinch, and by some miracle, she does not squirm. And her mother is silent.

Leah’s hands have the kindness her mother’s lack. 

She combs her fingers through Celestia’s hair, each movement long and deliberate as she separates it into three strands. Her fingers catch in a tangle, and she apologizes. She sings under her breath as she tames white hair into a tight braid. Leah’s voice is sweet, and whatever fear coils in her stomach releases as she sings; warmth stirs in Celestia’s chest, and she wishes she could sing to match, but she knows if she does, they risk being found out. 

Strands free themselves from the tight plait, but Leah only smiles and tucks them gently back in place. She smiles and laughs- quietly, afraid of being heard- when she and Celestia are alone, and the plait comes loose, white hair breaking lose into an unruly mess at the first sign of freedom.

When Celestia escapes to the surface, she wears it loose. 

A purple bandana keeps it from blowing in her face- a braid would be practical, but she refuses to tie it back. She would rather feel the wind combing through her hair, pulling it every which way in short bursts or ruffling the top. The wind is like the spirits that followed her from the Underdark, twisting and winding around her head, pulling hair lose from the simple binding and coiling around her neck. 

She wears her hair loose, and vows to never return it to the cruel confines of a Drow plait. She no longer belongs to that world below the surface, a world with no sun, no snow, and no wind, and she will not return. She has left her mother and her mother’s cruel fingers behind in the caverns of her childhood.

Back in the small room in Allesant, she stares at her reflection, and takes a breath to steady herself, to remind herself that she will still be Celestia Stardust. Braiding her hair into the severe braid of her childhood- the style that belongs to someone else, someone from before, who isn’t her- won’t change that, but still she hesitates.

She combs her fingers through the dandelion-puff of white hair, doing her best to work through the wind-tangles. She hums as she works, trying to recall the melody Leah would sing as she separates her hair into three sections. In the corner of her eye, the rainbow spirit flits about, disappearing to weave through the braid before Celestia pulls her hair tight. A few more minutes, and the spirits settle around her shoulders, as if to reassure her. 

In the mirror, a half-stranger stares back, and Celestia looks away.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this little speculation piece. I hope to write more in the future.   
> In the meantime, feel free to drop a review.  
> Thank you!


End file.
